Color by Number
by AkumaStrife
Summary: The white witch sat at the white table, in the white room. And her equally colorless companion was silent. /One Shot/


"_No!"_

"_Stop it!"_

"_Y-you're hurting me!"_

"_Don't …" a choked sob interrupted the beseeching "Please…make it stop! It's too—"_

* * *

"Namine."

The girl in question stiffened slightly, but refused to look at the man speaking to her, focused intently on the unfinished scene before her.

"Namine."

The petite blonde turned her head a fraction away, the movement barely noticeable, but the intention was received loud and clear.

A smirk tugged at the man's lips. "Oh? Well then I guess I can dispose of your playmate. Pity; and he was so cute too, had real _potential_." he purred. Namine's head whipped up of its own accord, looking just in time to see the long fingers swipe suggestively over the pressure points on the boys' neck.

The boy…she had never seen him before, yet the sight sent a pang of nostalgia, familiarity even, washing over her. However, he was striking enough that he was not someone easily forgotten. He had white hair; not light blonde like her own, but not silver like the keyblader's friend. It was an expanse of perfect, untouched snow.

The taller man's low voice pulled at her attention, "Changed your mind now that you've seen him? Vexen is finished with him, so you may keep him if you prefer. You can even weave a life for the poor creature if you so wish, bind him to you in any fabricated manner that you fancy."

Marluxia's words did not seem to bother the boy, a fact that worried the small witch. "Who is he?"

"Why, he is anyone you want him to be." Marluxia feigned wonder at the mere thought, "His mind is purely for your manipulation, his body the vessel for your imagination. The possibilities are endless." the pink haired man grinned widely, a grin that held no real emotion.

Namine was wary, she didn't like this conversation, nor where it was headed.

"So it's really your choice. You can keep him, or…" he ran a finger down the pale cheek, looking from the uncertain girl to the unfazed boy, "I can discard him."

"He can stay." Namine found herself saying too quickly, which caused the 'Graceful Assassin' to stretch his grin.

"I thought as much. Now…do not think I forgot about your little stunt the other day. So behave from now on," he pulled the silent boy against him, arm wrapped securely around the thin waist, his other hand raking aggressively through the untainted hair in such a way as to expose the boy's vulnerable neck " or else, I'll have my way with your new toy, and I just might break him."

Namine nodded vigorously. Marluxia's tongue flicked out briefly to moisten his lips as he slowly unwound himself from the boy, and slipped the fabric from around his temples, letting it flutter to the ground.

"Play nice now." he instructed with faux care and portaled out of the room. Silence was all that followed in her magically barricaded area. The boy's eyes quivered ever so slightly as he opened them, his new companion sucking in her breath in spite of herself.

His eyes were just like his hair; pure white. A blank slate of colorless, just like the walls of all the rooms in their castle of oblivion, just like the floors and ceilings, just like her dress, just like the spars furniture. As endless and spiraling as their very existence. Falling, falling, always falling, never reaching the bottom, only finding themselves deeper and deeper, no way to climb back out of the tunnel.

Namine twitched involuntarily, waking out of the sleep like stupor the mystery boy's eyes created.

"Can you see with them?" the blonde found herself asking before she could stop herself.

He shook his head negatively.

"I'm sorry." she blurted in response to her tactlessness and jumped to her feet, gently guiding him by the shoulders into the nearest white chair at her equally white table. He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by it all.

"Don't worry, I won't create fake memories for you. I wouldn't deceive you like that." she assured.

The boy shrugged again and replied in a smooth voice, "It's not like it would matter either way, right? I wouldn't know the difference."

Namine looked abashed at that, and chose to wait for his next statement in favor of trying to combat such an obviously true accusation.

"And you don't have to worry about me either" the boy said evenly, "I wasn't brought here to make sure you didn't escape. I'm not your new babysitter". The girl nodded as he continued reasonably, "Otherwise he wouldn't have threatened you with the mistreatment of my body."

She could only blush lightly at the blunt statement, turning back to her fragmentary drawings. They were familiar, safer than this boy who spoke truth much too easily.

Minutes passed, and as more time elapsed the more Namine was sucked into the world of her sketches, the boy a silent presence beside her.

"Can you hand me the purple?" she murmured without thinking, too absorbed in what the muddled scene before her was going to become. Only when the correct colored pencil was softly pushed into her outstretched hand did she snap out of her daze and stare in confusion at the item.

"…What…? But I thought…" she started with uncertainty, gazing at the boy who merely gazed ahead of him. She cleared her throat awkwardly and tried again, "I thought you said…"

"That I couldn't see out of them? That's right, I can't." he answered quietly, "At least not how you can see."

"What?"

He picked up a crayon and without turning his head in its direction mumbled, "This is 'red'. I know this not because of being able to see the color. I know because of its string."

"String?" Namine questioned, cocking her head slightly.

"Yes…I can see everything as lines and strings of numbers."

"I don't understand—"

"Of course you don't. It is for the same reason that I do not understand what the color red looks like, that you are not able to fathom the way in which I see your world as numbers rather than colors".

She nodded her vague understanding of the concept, knowing it would be futile to ask him to elaborate any further. She bent over her drawing once more, letting them lapse back into whatever sort of comfortable silence they had achieved beforehand.

The boy did not offer the information that he was the failed prototype of the Riku Replica, an experiment created by Vexen, the product of the seventeenth attempt at creating a doll for the scientist to manipulate. And Namine did not tell him that he was shaped from DNA extracted from her own body. They did not voice the truth that they were almost one in the same.

Instead they sat in complete silence; one concentrating on the single thing she did everyday for as long as she could remember, and the other fulfilling whatever role the former longed for.

* * *

The white haired boy sat in his usual silence at the cluttered table. He had not left the witch's room since his arrival, only staying at her side for as long as she wished it.

"Do you ever wish to see like everyone else?"

"Do you ever wish you had a heart like everyone else?" he retorted back automatically in his passive tone, instantly wishing he could retract the venomous question.

Namine was quiet, so he tried his best to backtrack "Sometimes I do, but you can't miss what you never had."

"Yes, that's true. But…does that mean that I am wrong in wishing for a heart?"

"Namine…I didn't mean it."

She forced a chuckle, trying to keep the atmosphere light, "It's okay, after all, you were only speaking the truth. 'You can't miss what you never had'. " she quoted absentmindedly.

"So, in reality it's silly for us nobodies to constantly crave for a heart, crave to be complete."

"No, it's human nature." the empty eyed boy corrected, "Which is why your organization fights for a missing heart, and I do not bother myself with a missing sense."

Their conversation was cut short by a round of applause.

"How touching." a snide voice commented, sarcasm oozing like a cloud around one of the witch's captor.

Namine jumped in surprise, her constant counterpart growing silent, as was customary whenever others were present.

"Axel." she greeted with a wary expression.

"Hello Namine." Axel replied with an overdramatic, sweeping bow; purposefully ignoring the abandoned experiment at the table.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned lightly.

"Just thought you should be prepared for your visitor is all."

"Visitor?"

"Yeah, Vexen is performing the finishing touches on his completed copy of the chosen keybrat's friend. He's gonna bring it by in a few days time, got it memorized?"

"Why is he bringing it here?" Namine asked in genuine confusion.

"You'll see." the redhead winked and disappeared in the trademark archway of swirling darkness.

"So, he's finally finished it then." Namine commented aloud. The boy was silent.

* * *

Namine hummed to herself quietly, the boy who had become her protective shadow stood behind her chair, and the zombie like doll sat in one of the white chairs on the other side of the girl's table.

The doll was slowly starting to gain consciousness as Namine finished more drawings that depicted the memories he was supposed to possess. The same memories the witch had been little by little inserting into the keyblade wielder's own mind, covering up the real ones.

If the procedure disturbed the unseeing boy, he didn't show it.

Days passed and the replica had graduated to being fully awake and capable of wandering the petite nobody's room. As the fabricated memories pushed stronger roots into his mind, he grew more comfortable around the witch and her quiet equivalent, becoming more confident that his name was Riku.

"You know," 'Riku' said aloud as he flipped lazily through one of Namine's sketchbooks, speaking to the white haired boy "I don't remember you, you couldn't have grown up with Namine, Sora, and I on the island."

The boy would haven preferred to ignore the fake being, but knew he wouldn't be given that courtesy, "No, you're right, I didn't."

"Thought so." 'Riku' smirked, "I would have remembered someone like you, especially since you're always hanging around my Namine."

The girl in question blushed slightly at the bold statement. The white haired boy didn't say anything, only experienced an unpleasant twisting of some ugly sensation deep inside himself.

"Stop."

"What?" 'Riku' asked in confusion, never before having been addressed directly by the normally voiceless boy.

"Stop going through things that do not belong to you." the blank eyed boy stated smoothly, nodding his head in the direction of the sketchbook in the replica's hands.

'Riku' wore a perplexed expression, no doubt at how the boy who couldn't see knew exactly what he was doing. Instead of questioning that though, he replied, "Namine doesn't mind. Don't speak for her."

"I'm not, although you just did." Even though his tone was expressionless, it held an underlying hint of challenge.

"Fine." 'Riku' snapped and turned to the girl who had -within days- become the object of a lifetime of his affections. "Hey, Nami, do you mind me looking through your drawings?"

"No, it's fine," Namine said with a small smile, trying to placate both boys, "but thank you for asking"

"See? I told you she wouldn't mind. You should really stop acting like you own her, especially since I've been friends with her for much longer than you. I think I would know whether she minds something or not."

"Riku, please don't, it's nothing to fight about." Namine pleaded.

"If I do not have a claim to her, like you say, then you would have an even less of a claim." the snow-white boy responded calmly.

"What did you say?" 'Riku' asked in outrage.

"You have no right to speak of Namine in any sort of personal way. You are merely a carbon copy of someone who already exists. You have no life of your own, only the one Namine created for you. With out her you would still be a lifeless doll sitting down in Vexen's lab."

Namine gaped at the speech delivered without a stitch of emotion: the boy had never said anything in such a way before.

'Riku' narrowed his borrowed eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, there is only one of me! And I know Namine well enough, I love her!"

The even boy's expression changed not a fraction as he uttered, "Nonsense, your entire existence is a lie."

'Riku' growled in outrage and stomped over to the boy who was not even looking in his direction, pulling back his fist to build up force. When he was just close enough he let his fist fly.

"No!" Namine shouted, carelessly dropping her crayons as she stood. But when 'Riku's' punch reached its destination, the boy was a few inches to the left of where he had been standing. The replica was more than slightly confused, but pulled back to try to hit the sightless boy again.

This time he caught the gloved hand before it was able to reach his face. Without a word he twisted and 'Riku' was sent sprawling to the floor.

"Namine," he said impassively "I believe he has fully adopted the real Riku's personality, you should be able to send him back to Vexen for further instruction now."

Namine tried to hide her wonder and nodded, helping the replica up as the white haired boy coolly sat at the white table, toying with a crayon idly.

* * *

It was silent, save for the scratching of pastels on clean paper, like it always was. But more so than usual. It was a strained silence; an empty, cold silence. A silence that grates on the ears and causes the heart to twist.

The boy stood without warning, sending the white chair tumbling to the white floor, the sudden noise making the witch jolt in surprise.

"Come on." the boy stated simply, holding out his hand to the other.

Namine looked perplexedm "Where are we going?"

"To fix things."

"What?"

"We are getting out of this room and you're going to make things right with the keyblade wielder." the boy explained slowly, as if speaking to a child.

Namine instantly grasped his hand and let him pull her out of the white chair and over to the white door. He listened briefly, ear pressed against the exit, before throwing it open and leading her out into the empty, bright white hall.

"Why are you helping me?" the blonde asked, trying to keep up with the sightless boy's long strides.

He tapped his chest with the hand still holding her's, "I can feel it, right here. I can feel your misery and regret." he turned his head in her direction "And it was suffocating me."

She followed him through many hallways, his ear cocked as if listening and free hand dragging along the colorless walls. Every so often he would stop in his tracks and turn completely around, taking a different route as if he knew what lay ahead. Namine didn't question the notion of being led by a boy who could not see the castle they roamed, merely put her complete trust in the colorless being who gently guided her.

Finally the boy stopped outside a large door, releasing her hand. "He is through those doors, now go before it's too late."

"Aren't you coming with me?" the witch asked with a hint of fear.

"No, I'll wait for you here."

"Okay, but you will leave the castle with me if I am able to make things right, won't you?"

The boy faltered, not answering for a moment too long "…Yes."

Confusion mixed with the fear in the girl's blue eyes "Why did you hesitate? You're not going to stay behind, right?" she grabbed his hand unconsciously, as if trying to keep him from disappearing.

"I will leave with you, promise." He leaned forward, gently brushing away her bangs to press a feather soft kiss to her forehead. Pulling back his lips curled in a smile; a smile possessing the sincerity that only a first smile could achieve.

"And no matter what happens," he started, his first and last expression wavering, "I will always be with you…in here." he assured, tapping the place above where her heart would be.

She shyly returned the smile, letting his hand drop so she could turn and pull the heavy door open.

"I'll be back." she vowed. The boy nodded, watching as she slipped through the entrance, the door slowly closing of its own accord.

He sighed, face reverting back to its normal, blank expression, and turned to lean against the stark wall. He slid down into a sitting position, letting his eyes fall closed.

Namine knew, deep down, that he couldn't really leave with her. But it was okay to pretend once in a while. It made difficult things easier and kept fragile hearts from shattering. Namine knew the truth, but was refusing to face it.

He was created in this castle of lost memories, and so was tied to it. When the castle fell, so would he; destined to fade into the dark recesses of Namine's mind.

An hour must have passed, maybe more, when he felt it.

He didn't need sight to know what was happening. He knew by the fact that his arm was becoming weightless, his hand slowly disappearing. Simply by his body collapsing the untainted boy knew that Namine had gotten to the keyblade's chosen one in time, and was at this very moment confronting his castle's lord.

"And so it begins." the boy murmured.

* * *

The witch sat at a white table, in a white room. One much like her previous enclosure. It was a mystery as to why the man wrapped in red cloth replicated the castle of forgotten memories in this single room for her.

She sat at the white table, in the white room, doing what she always did. The white table was littered with unfinished draws and crayons and pencils in any color one could imagine. On the white floor was stack upon stack of books and unmarked paper, white paper, pure paper, untainted paper. Such a familiar expanse of untouched snow.

The walls were white as well, blindingly so that if the room were emptied of all objects then it would be impossible to decipher where the floor ended and the walls began and where the walls turned into ceiling. Many would find it maddening, but to the colorless witch, this was home; white was home.

But in this case the walls were not simply sharp white. They were covered in taped up pieces of 8.5x11 paper. Each one the same shape, but each one portraying a different scene; each one a different memory. There were pictures of worlds the blonde girl had never been too, and people she'd never met, but knew too much about by invading the memories of the keyblade wielder. They were all his and she was chaining them back together, for she was the one that originally tore them apart.

On the west wall, across from the lone window, in-between an illustration of the ornate door of darkness and a portrait of the group of people who lived in the patchwork world of misfits, was a depiction of something different entirely.

It was a page, the corners curling slightly, filled from one edge to the other with strips and blocks of shades of dark blue. The shapes were crammed together in some odd, chaotic order that made no real sense. And meticulously drawn over, in-between, and around the strange blue patches were endless strings of numbers; the number '17' etched into the lower corner.

* * *

**I love this piece, I really do. It strikes many emotional chords with me, and I just hope that I wrote this well enough to convey the same feeling to you. I don't know where this came from. Or how it got so serious. It ended up being sort of a challenge to myself, as if to see if I could write something with X amount of limitations.**

**There are many concepts in this story that I would love to spend paragraphs explaining to all of you. But I have a feeling that it would only take the magic from it, so I guess I'll just leave this tale a tangle of mysteries that you can unravel for yourself.**

**But if there is anything you noticed, or think you know what aspects I am vaguely referring to, I would love to hear your comments and thoughts =) See if you can find all my limitations.**


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